Method in the Madness
by FireyFreedom
Summary: CRACK! CRACK! Lot's of Crack! Sherlock's got a new method of dealing with overload. Lestrade is worried and Mycroft is intrigued.


_**Obviously I don't own. Just a piece of mindless crack meant for amusement. **_

Sometimes the mind of a genius got overrun. Too much stimuli coming in too fast and it would just—stop. Or worse burn out completely leaving Sherlock a sort of shell creature until it could all sink in.

This crime scene, over run with moronic officers of the law and all sorts of tantalizing crews was quickly starting to overwhelm even Sherlock's veteran senses. He caught John's eye in the crowd, noticing that the soldier was trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible, while still clearing the idiots out of the crime scene. Good old dependable John, but it wasn't enough, not this time. Sherlock was building up a head of steam, and it was about to explode.

The great detective opened his mouth to deliver a stream of biting insults meant to clear the room when a conversation with John just a few nights ago reared its head, suggesting to him an even better idea.

"SHAKAKHAN!"

The room went silent immediately as every person in the room turned—bug-eyed—towards the consulting detective who had just shouted and waved his arms in the air.

John quietly sniggered to himself, remembering the very same conversation

"Does it ever get to be too much?"

Sherlock glanced lethargically over to his companion, "Hmm?"

"The stimulus from noticing all those details, does it ever overload?"

Sherlock reconsidered the doctor yet again. There was always something new about John, some new facet he hadn't seen before. It kept Sherlock from getting bored with the other man, that and John's usefulness as a data collector, doctor, and soldier.

"Why do you ask?"

Curious, because it wasn't something most people considered, that meant John probably had some sort of previous experience; obviously not the same level of genius, or a different type due to John's shock and continued awe at Sherlock's abilities.

"I had this mate back in school, she was crafty, liked to play games, real smart, she sometimes got migraines, and sometimes, when too many people needed her at once she had this thing she would due; she called it her instant stress relief."

"What was it?"

John grins at the memories, "She'd spazz out and shout 'shakakhan' as loud as she dared. Pretty much everyone would go silent and do as she asked after that."

"Hmm," Sherlock turned over and went back to staring at the back of the couch, missing the impish grin that lit up John's face

Lestrade blinked at Sherlock a few times, trying to find words, and failing, before finally, "Are you er- okay?"

"Yes, I'm quite alright, now do you think you could clear the scene of your flunkies and allow me to do my work?"

"Yeah," everyone started filing out before Lestrade even glanced at them, all eager to get away from the freak and spread the latest story.

John grinned at his friend, "Enjoy yourself?"

Sherlock allowed him a small smile before getting back to work, much less stressed now that he'd let off some steam.

Word quickly spread around the Force about Sherlock's latest eccentricity, and Mycroft Holmes replayed the surveillance tape a few times, noticing every detail about the reactions of the various officers to his little brothers outburst.

Anthea noted the slightly pursed lips of her boss, which usually heralded a new idea.

Sure enough the guards standing outside the next cabinet meeting were surprised and lightly concerned to hear "Shakakhan" shouted. The cabinet meeting went much smoother after that.

Word spread through the ministries about Mycroft Holmes' new technique and several behavioral psychologists started studying it.

Sherlock was crowing about it to John. How he'd heard about Mycroft's little tantrum is best left a secret. John laughed along with his friend, trying to picture the reserved Mycroft shouting and waving his arms. Would he keep hold of the umbrella?

John received a text while Sherlock was in his room getting an umbrella: **Ta, good job re: Holmes'. Bet that was a sight to see.**

On the other side of London a cell phone vibrated on a bedside table. A hand, calloused with nails bitten short picked it up. **You owe me dinner—JW**

"Who is that, darling."

"Nothing Jim Dear."

Moriarty put his arms around the woman to whom the hand belonged, "Keeping secrets from me now?" his tone took on a note of warning.

A light laugh greeted his words, "Of course. If I didn't you'd get bored with me, and then what would I do?"

"Die."

"Exactly, so I'll be keeping my secrets."

Dry lips brushed James Moriarty's cheek as the woman twisted out of his hold and walked out of the bedroom, texting with one hand.

**It's a deal, how does Greek sound?**

_**OH dear… was that a bit of plot snuck in at the end? Oops… I didn't mean it!**_

_**Like it? Hate it?**_


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